Joe was wiping down the bar table, when the door to the building opened several hours before it was supposed to. He figured that it was either a Watcher reporting in on an assignment, or one of his Immortal friends. He guessed the latter, on hearing a particularly ancient language that only one being in existence knew -- one he had heard often enough from that same person to recognize --, and glanced up to see Methos shaking his coat to get the rain off of it, his expression one of disgust.
As the ancient Immortal walked towards Joe, he said, "I swear, Joe, if it weren't for that bloody assignment you gave me -- which I just finished, by the way --, I would've been in California with Amanda a month ago by now!"
Joe rolled his eyes as Methos sat down, and placed a cool unopened beer bottle on the table for the Immortal just as the phone rang. Muttering an "excuse me," Joe reached over to the phone, picked it up, and said, "Joe's Blues Bar, how can I help you?"
There was silence, then static, then a voice that was distinct, yet distant, telling him the call had to be long distance. "Yes, hello? Is this, ah, Mr. Dawson?"
The voice was male, and had a British sound to it, which made Joe's eyebrows go up. At Methos' questioning look, he shrugged, then said, "Yeah, this is Dawson. What can I do for you?" "My name is Rupert Giles, and I have a situation here that -- I am told -- you can help me with."
Joe realized that this Rupert Giles sounded extremely nervous, which made Joe wary. He leaned against the bar, and grabbed a notepad and pen nearby. Calmly, he asked, "What kinda situation...and where exactly are you, Mr. Giles?"
Joe noticed from the corner of his eye, Methos choke slightly on his beer, as Giles said, "I am in Sunnydale, California, and am in need of finding an Immortal willing to come here."
Keeping his eye on Methos as he jotted down what Giles said, Joe replied, "Sunnydale, California? That's pretty far to make a phone call." He noticed as Methos sat ram-rod straight, and focused his attention completely on his side of the conversation. "And why do you need an Immortal to go there? You know we can't interfere with Immortals, don't you?"
There was a pause, then a weary sigh, before Giles said, "Mr. Dawson, I am from the Council of Watchers. Do you know what our group deals with?"
"The Council, huh? I've only heard rumors about you guys. People say you deal with stuff that make Immortals seem like child's play."
Joe suddenly found Methos standing directly in front of him, causing him to jerk back in startlement, and nearly fall. Only him holding onto the bar with a death-like grip kept him from doing so. He was about to make some rude comment, when he noticed the look on the Immortal's face.
Methos' face was completely drained of color, making his normally pale completion downright white. But his eyes were what was truly frightening, for they seemed to have turned completely gold, and his age seemed to be reflected in them, as well as a wisdom that Joe had no wish to know how the Immortal had gained.
"Wha--" Joe managed to get out, before the notepad and pen were ripped from his hand. He watched as Methos wrote furiously on it, then handed it back. He read what was written on it. Ask him what the situation is...NOW!
In a slightly shaky voice -- at first --, he asked, as he wondered what he had gotten himself into, "Mr. Giles, what is the situation in Sunnydale that you would need an Immortal for?" "The Slayer is Immortal,"
came the simple but confusing reply.
Joe wrote down what Giles had said, and watched as Methos used every ounce of strength he had to keep from throwing something. With stiff movements, Methos wrote onto the notepad, Tell him you have an Immortal that will be able to help, and will be there in three days at the most.
Joe nodded and relayed the message. He then got Giles' phone number and the address to where they were going, then ended the conversation, saying, "Alright then, have a nice day."
As Joe put down the phone, Methos finished his beer, then threw it against the far wall of the bar. It was thrown with such force, that when it hit...the glass shattered, and the wall had a dent in it.
With a calmness that he did not feel, Joe said, "You're going to pay for the repair work on that."
That was when the ancient Immortal started cursing. Not in English, no...but in the oldest language he knew, and slowly worked his way up to
English. The volume going from soft and tight to loud and raging.
After an hour, Methos stopped, collapsed onto a barstool, and held his head in his hands as if he had a headache. In a mumbled voice, he said, "Joe, if this ever gets out that there is a Slayer that is Immortal...it would be as bad as if they realized that I still exist. I have
to help her!"
Feeling strangely sympathetic, Joe asked, "Want me to go with you?"
Methos looked up from his hands, and said, "You don't even have a clue what's going on."
Joe shrugged, then said, "So? Tell me on the way there."